The Original Niche

Her moonlit and foreign eyes

hold such a fluency.

He thrives and he contests

bright, pure, and firm,

as if his crown exposes the

seduction, his frenzy

is showing the devotion of the

moonlight in her breath, he’s blessed;

Apollo’s eyes so warm, as he’s shown

her appearance bends

and searches his grave of thorns,

proving best to mend

with her frenzied creed,

and as she blends within

above a bluebird sings,

and as his iris’s breed the seas

just one fish lies in sight,

so his iris’s seem torn,

and eternally battle born.

The silver from her

midnight moon

as her lip lock preys on his.

In her beauty, so compelling,

he removes his mask of doom.

Apollo decides to write:

‘For the rest of my life

I shall seek for my wife

Within her faint

moonlight.’

delivered us from evil as she remains

within his prayer for

the wicked and the scorned, hers lies within

the ink of his thorn. ‘Her fluent niche’

he writes, ‘And I adorn her so,

For which I yearn in

The light of her soul,

She lends control,

And blends my cold and fiery warmth.’

The parchment, burning from

the prayer for the scorned.